


101 Ways To Get Lucky (In Love)

by Lenore



Category: SGA - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Challenge Response, Community: undermistletoe, First Time, Harlequin, M/M, Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-14
Updated: 2006-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-13 02:42:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney McKay is rich, gorgeous and at the top of his game—except someone just moved the goalposts! Now Rodney realizes he is sorely lacking the one status symbol that everybody seems to have…the perfect family. Rodney needs help, so he hires a relationship coach. Single-dad John Sheppard may be an expert, but not when it comes to his own relationships! And every day he spends with Rodney makes him wish that he could be the one to fill the vacancy in Rodney's life…</p>
            </blockquote>





	101 Ways To Get Lucky (In Love)

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to my science consultant [](http://mecurtin.livejournal.com/profile)[**mecurtin**](http://mecurtin.livejournal.com/) and lots of love to [](http://barely-bean.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://barely-bean.livejournal.com/)**barely_bean** for beta reading and encouragement all along the way. Also, I want to thank my prompt for being so fabulous! Never have I loved a prompt more! :)

_#27: Winning isn't everything. This is love we're talking about, not Fight Club. If it's so important to always be right, smug self-congratulations may be all you end up with._

  
Rodney McKay sprawled in his leather executive's chair the way a king might occupy his throne, with an expansive sense of his own worth, secure in the knowledge of his dominion over everything he touched. Newspapers covered his desk, and he held one unfurled in his hands, savoring his moment of triumph.

"I won," he declared to his empty office. "I won, I won, I won, I won. And Kavanaugh lost."

This last point in particular widened the smile he'd been wearing since the news broke that McKay International (and not Kavanaugh Unlimited) had been awarded the 12.7 billion dollar U.S. government contract to oversee the nation's conversion to hydrogen-based fuel.

"Is it safe to come in? Or will the smugness overpower me like a cloud of toxic gas?" Laura Cadman, his often fired, always rehired, director of public relations popped her head around the door.

He waved her in. "Come join the celebration of the glory that is my genius."

Cadman's blonde ponytail bobbed in its usual perky and annoying fashion as she sauntered over to his desk. "Glad to see it hasn't gone to your head, McKay."

"Did you catch what Bill Foley wrote about me in _The Wall Street Journal_?" He snapped the paper open and started to read, " _The driving force behind McKay International is the company's namesake, an irascible genius and limitlessly energetic businessman who has nearly singled-handedly propelled the revolution in renewable, environmentally responsible fuels._ "

Cadman gave Rodney an appraising look. "Well, he got the irascible part right."

Rodney had good reason to be generous today, so he spared the usual firing, and merely demanded, "Do you want something?"

"As a matter of fact I do." She made herself at home on the corner of his desk, although he'd told her time and again he'd rather not have her posterior all over his important papers. "First, I want to make sure you're not wearing that to the press conference." She made a rude gesture at his tie.

He clutched his exploding kiwis protectively. "What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing," she said sweetly, "if you're trying to blind the press."

"Hey!"

She breezed on, "Second, I don't want you caught off guard when some reporter brings up Kavanaugh's passive-aggressive McRanty pants comments. Apparently, he never got the memo that the loser should offer a pithy 'congratulations to my worthy opponent' or better yet stay out of the public eye entirely."

Rodney frowned. "What could Kavanaugh possibly have to say? I won." His glee returned in a giddy hiccup. "I won, I won, I won, I won, I won." He took a breath. "And he lost."

Cadman rolled her eyes. "You've been doing that all morning, haven't you?" She flipped open a copy of _Energy Industry Daily_. "Here. Let me read it to you. _Rodney McKay is a perfectly competent scientist_ —"

"Competent!" Rodney huffed. "He only wishes he had a spark of my genius. A glimmer of a hint of a spark, even."

"— _he probably won't mess up the conversion to hydrogen fuel too badly. He'll certainly give it all his attention. Days, nights, weekends, national holidays. It's not like he has anyone to go home to, now is it?_."

Rodney scowled. "What is that supposed to mean? I have a cat."

"Some people put stock in human relationships. Go figure."

"I'll have you know that I'm not lacking for female companionship." Rodney crossed his arms over his chest, daring her to contradict him.

"I don't want to hear about your commercial transactions, McKay."

Rodney made a face, but then a truly appalling possibility occurred to him. "Wait. Are you trying to tell me that Kavanaugh can one-up me just because he has a family?"

"In some circles, having loved ones is considered important. And by 'some circles,' of course, I mean humanity."

"That's ridiculous!" Rodney insisted hotly. "He doesn't even like his wife. And one of his brats is wall-eyed."

Cadman made a chastising sound that reminded him disturbingly of his mother.

"Well, the kid is!" Rodney insisted. He slumped sideways in his chair, some of the shine rubbed off his crown, but then the solution to the problem handily popped into his head, as it always did. He snapped his fingers. "Fine. Two can play that game. Cadman, I need to acquire a family."

She reared back in mock terror. "Don't look at me."

"Oh, trust me. I wasn't. That does beg the question, though. Where am I going to find a woman worthy of bearing my offspring?"

"No, McKay. The question is, with that charming personality of yours, what woman is going to give you the time of day." She laughed and slid off his desk. "Got to go. Loads to do. I'm booking you on every news program known to man. Good luck with the wife shopping." Her ponytail bobbed all the way across his office and out the door.

It was rare that Rodney needed advice of a personal nature. He did his best to merge so completely with his work that nothing else existed. But when the other arenas of life refused to be beaten back with a whip and a chair, there was only one person he turned to.

He buzzed his assistant. "Come here, Mildred. I want you."

A moment later, she trudged into his office. "That Alexander Graham Bell joke never gets old, Dr. M."

"I'm glad you appreciate my sense of humor." He waved her to a chair. "Mildred, I have a matter of a somewhat delicate nature—"

"You want a wife." Rodney stared in amazement, and Mildred added, "Laura mentioned something about it."

"Oh, yeah? Well, someone should mention to her," he shouted in the direction of the door, "that she's fired!" He took a breath. "So, any ideas?"

"Dr. M, you just happen to be in luck. There's this new relationship book out that's 'by a man for men'." She made air quotes. "'Everyone's talking about it. Helped my Dudley find his Gwendolyn." Rodney must have looked blank, because she added. "Dudley's my son."

"I knew that," he insisted.

"Uh-huh," Mildred was noncommittal. "Anyways, maybe that's a place to start."

"Order me a copy from Amazon." Rodney cheerfully resumed his kingly sprawling, pleased that the problem-solving was already underway.

"I can do you one better, Dr. M. This Mr. Sheppard that wrote it? He lives out in Pasadena. Word is he gives private consultations if the case is dire enough." She said in a more confidential tone, "I saw that on Oprah."

"Call him, call him now!" Rodney waved his hands wildly. "Tell him what an absolute emergency this is. If I'm going to be married before the stockholder's mid-year meeting, I'm going to need professional help."

"You don't say," Mildred said under her breath.

"I heard that!"

He was tempted to fire her, but he didn't have complete confidence she'd agree to be rehired.

* * *

_#79: If you always do the same things, go the same places, work and home and work and home, you're going to be single for a long, long time. Seriously. Who are you going to meet sitting on the couch? No one. Unless you're lucky enough to have a really cute Fed-ex delivery person on your route._

  
In a purely geographical sense, Pasadena was not far from downtown Los Angeles, but factoring in traffic, it could conceivably take less time to drive to Calcutta. Rodney darted from lane to lane, trying to find some glimpse of daylight on the 110, to no avail. Cars stuttered along, stop-and-go, stop-and-go, and Rodney blamed John Sheppard for each and every point his blood pressure rose along the way. What sensible person lived this far inland? By the time Rodney finally had the city limits in sight, he'd convinced himself that Sheppard's taste in real estate was nothing less than a conspiracy to waste his valuable time.

His car's GPS system guided him past the Rose Bowl, into a quiet residential neighborhood, onto a tree-lined street. He pulled up outside a white hacienda style house. Mildred's instructions said to walk about the side to the back garden gate. Rodney rang the bell, and a voice asked, "Mr. McKay?"

" _Dr._ McKay." After the drive he'd endured, he was in no mood to be short-changed on his academic credentials.

"My bad," the man sounded amused. "Come on in."

There was a buzz, and the lock clicked open. Inside, a man came forward to shake hands. He was tall with dark messy hair and the kind of made-for-TV good looks that Southern California was practically drowning in. "John Sheppard. Good to meet you. Let's talk in my office." He led the way. "Make yourself at home. Can I get you a latte? Mineral water?"

He smiled, all casual surfer charm, and Rodney had the sinking feeling that the office reflected his personality, a mix of fraternity house ambience and the décor of an eight-year-old boy's bedroom, primary colors and beanbag chairs and model airplanes sitting on the ping pong table that served as a desk. He reached the obvious conclusion that pretty much anyone could get a book published nowadays.

"Do you have any actual qualifications?" he gave voice to his skepticism.

Sheppard stopped in the middle of pouring his Perrier, obviously not used to being questioned, or at least not so abruptly. He broke into a smile, a genuine one this time. "You get right to the point, don't you? Well, Dr. McKay, everything I write about, all the advice I give, comes from practical experience, from trying things and observing, seeing what works and what doesn't."

"Huh." It was hardly impressive, but Rodney had a matrimonial schedule to keep, and no time to waste shopping around for relationship coaches.

"Would it make you feel better if I had a degree in psychology?"

Rodney plunked down onto a non-beanbag chair. "Not in the least. So my assistant explained the situation, right? I need to get married and have kids. As soon as possible."

"Need?" Sheppard asked politely, eyebrow raised, as he took a seat behind his desk.

"It's come to my attention recently that a man in my position doesn't have everything until he has a family. Being _mostly_ successful has never been a goal of mine."

"Plus," John said slowly, "you probably _want_ to get married."

Rodney shrugged. He wasn't sure he understood the relevance.

"Huh." John tapped his finger against his chin. "Let me ask you some questions, Dr. McKay. To help me get a sense of where we need to start."

He waved his hand. "Rodney. If you're going to grill me about the nitty-gritty of my personal life, I think I'd be more comfortable if you didn't sound like one of my employees."

Sheppard grinned. "Okay, Rodney. So, how many dates have you had during the last two months?"

He snorted. "Please. I was in the corporate dogfight of my life. Don't you read the papers? I've been on every front page for the past week."

"O-kay. Then tell me about a woman you've found attractive lately."

"The only women I know are my assistant, who's my mother's age and wears orthopedic shoes, and Cadman, who's the most insufferable person on Earth."

This last bit caught Sheppard's interest. "Maybe there's something in that—"

"Please." Rodney made a face.

Sheppard let out his breath. "All right. So, think about a woman you've noticed on the street recently. Tell me about her."

Rodney sniffed dismissively. "I never pay attention to people. It's a distraction."

"When exactly was the last time you asked someone out?" Sheppard was frowning.

Rodney did the calculations. He wasn't sure commercial transactions counted, so he left those out. "Two— no, three years ago. Katie Brown, a botanist, to my sister's wedding. She and Jeannie still keep in touch, I've heard."

"So…you have virtually no contact with available women?"

"Yes. Well," Rodney said stiffly, "I suppose you could put it that way."

"I'd say we have our starting point then." Sheppard grinned and reached behind him into a filing cabinet. "Here's the first step to meeting the future Mrs. Dr. Rodney McKay." He pushed a flyer across the table.

Rodney squinted at it. "Internet dating? That's the advice I'm paying you obscene gobs of money for?"

Sheppard sprawled back in his chair. "Didn't think of it yourself, did you?"

Rodney crossed his arms over his chest.

"That's a no, right?" Sheppard was insufferably sure of himself. "Look, Rodney. Internet dating is just a tool. The point is: you need to meet women if you're ever going to marry one. It sounds like you spend all your time at the office. You'll need to shake things up a little if you're going to have someone in your life." John held up his hand before Rodney could protest. "I said a little. And don't tell me how busy you are. You're the one who wants a wife."

Rodney let out a sigh and grudgingly scrutinized the step-by-step instructions. "What if all the women I meet are English majors? Or believe neo-con politics makes good sense?"

"You'll tailor your profile to attract the kind of woman you're interested in. Plus, the Internet dating service I recommend has a sophisticated matching system. You should meet only well-educated, professional women."

"Sounds elitist."

Sheppard shifted in his chair. "Well—"

"I didn't mean that as a criticism." Rodney folded the paper and tucked it into his jacket pocket. "So…is that it for the advice?"

Sheppard nodded. "For now. Sign up. Post your profile. Exchange some emails. Go on some dates. Call me afterwards, so we can do a post-mortem. See where the trouble spots are."

Rodney stood. "Gathering data and analyzing it. At least that's an approach I can relate to."

"I had a feeling." Sheppard bounded to his feet, grinning. "You're gonna knock 'em dead.

Rodney pushed his shoulders back and lifted his chin and let Sheppard walk him out to the hall, newly confident that he was God's gift to women. Only when the door closed behind him did it occur to him that he'd gone from reasonable skepticism to cheerfully drinking the Internet dating Kool-aid in a span of twenty minutes. Clearly, the art of persuasion came as naturally to Sheppard as it did to the proverbial used car salesman, and Rodney was suddenly not at all certain why he was taking dating advice from a man who could probably charm women out of their panties with a careless compliment and one of those lazy smiles of his.

While mulling this over, Rodney managed to turn the wrong way and ended up not at the back door, but in the kitchen, under the suspicious gaze of a kid sitting at the table doing her homework. She had a wild shock of dark hair that fell in her face, wide green eyes, a certain impudence in the way she stared at Rodney. There was absolutely no doubting her parentage. She had "Sheppard Junior" written all over her.

"I'm Carly," she said, idly twirling her pen, "and you're not supposed to be here."

"Dr. Rodney McKay. Uh— Rodney. And no, no, I'm not."

"Stethoscope doctor?" she asked.

He shook his head. "The other kind."

"Oh." She didn't sound especially impressed.

"Well, I should probably—" But then he caught sight of her work, a three-dimensional model of a glucose molecule, or at least what _had been_ a glucose molecule before she'd twisted it into a lopsided figure eight, wrong, wrong, so wrong he didn't even know how to quantify its wrongness, and he scowled at her. "What are they teaching you in school? Clearly not chemistry."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, you just paid for relationship advice from my _dad_. So who's the one who doesn't know anything?"

Rodney opened his mouth, but no cutting remark conveniently came out. The most annoying part was that the kid was probably right.

Sheppard Junior took pity on him. "Just kidding. Anyway, I know how it's supposed to work. I was just seeing how bad I could mess it up." She quickly put the molecule back together again, in its correct chair-like form this time, and Rodney could breathe easier. "See, it's for extra credit, and we're supposed to work in pairs, and Jimmy Newly expects me to do everything. Because he's a stupid jerk like that. Only I don't need extra credit, and he does." She met Rodney's gaze head on and flipped her hair back over her shoulder, as if daring him to disapprove.

Rodney stared. "That's—"

"Mean? Spiteful? Vindictive? Malicious? Lacking an appropriate spirit of generosity?" She seemed honestly interested in his choice of adjective.

He smiled broadly. "Ingenious."

She tilted her head, giving him a second look. "Maybe you're not as lame as I thought."

"Thank you," he said dryly.

"No, really," she insisted. "You're actually pretty cool." She smiled, and it was just like her father's.

Rodney had never imagined that an eleven-year-old's approval could be so gratifying, and yet there it was. He said goodbye and went out to the car thinking, "Definitely Sheppard Junior."

* * *

_#13: Not everything is meant to be. A date that doesn't take isn't necessarily a failure. Think of it as spring training, a chance to brush up on your skills._

  
It probably should have come as some sort of warning sign that the most (one might even go so far as to say the _only_ ) satisfying part of Rodney's dating experience was talking to Sheppard after each futile travesty.

  
"Her name was Lola," he griped after the first date.

"You knew that going in."

"But I didn't know she used to be a showgirl! Besides, she hates cats."

"Hmm. Okay."

"Okay? That's it? That's all you have to say?"

"I always think there's something wrong with people who don't like animals."

"Me, too. So, you have pets?"

"Fruit Loop. A bull terrier. My daughter named him."

"I had a dog when I was a kid. He ran away."

"I'm sure it wasn't anything personal, Rodney."

Rodney was tight-lipped about the next encounter, "We didn't hit it off."

"You don't want to, maybe, fill in a few more details?"

"No."

"No?"

"No!" Rodney took a breath and mumbled, "Fine. She said she was looking for a man who was attractive as well as successful."

There was a pause. "So the problem was that she was stupid and had bad taste." John sounded genuinely angry.

Then came the one who asked about Rodney's childhood. After he went into some painful detail about how he and his sister had to compete for their father's affection through their intellectual achievements, mentioning the drill sergeant routine of prime/not prime that had been a staple of the McKay family dinner table since Rodney was old enough to talk, his date promptly prodded him into playing a round.

"She didn't get _any_ right! Not even when I gave up hope and threw out single digits. She practically went cross-eyed when I started with 127,923."

"Not prime," John said off-handedly.

That took a moment to sink in. "Oh, my God. You're _smart_! You've just been hiding it under all that hair."

"Give me your dating site password. I want to beef up your profile, so you get more Mensa members and fewer human Barbie dolls."

Rodney gave him the code. "Since you brought up Mensa—"

"I passed the test, but never got around to actually joining."

"Because you were too busy with your important intellectual work teaching men how to bag babes?"

John laughed. "Don't ever change, Rodney. Seriously."

  
Rodney didn't realize he'd developed a tendency to start sentences with "John says..." or "John thinks..." or "Even though John was too focused on writing his bubble-gum advice books to actually join Mensa..." until Cadman started making fun of him for it. Rodney's genius did not, as a rule, extend to introspection, and truth be told, he hadn't even really noticed when Sheppard stopped being Sheppard and became John.

A bad case of transference, Cadman called it, right before Rodney fired her.

The next time Rodney got the urge to talk to John, he felt oddly self-conscious about it, and after due consideration, settled on calling Sheppard Junior instead. This seemed like a perfectly reasonable compromise until the phone started ringing and it occurred to him to wonder if he could end up registering as a sex offender for using somewhat dubious methods to acquire an eleven-year-old's cell phone number.

"Um, hello." He cleared his throat. "This is Dr.— Uh— Rodney."

There was a significant pause. "You know I'm too young for you, right?"

"No! I mean, yes! I wasn't— I just wanted to see how your extra credit project went."

"Wait. Are you calling because you're pathetically mooning over my father?" Sheppard Junior's voice sharpened with suspicion.

"No! Of course not."

"Because that happens."

"I'll have you know I'm a man of science."

Not that this made much sense as a defense against having a crush, but Sheppard Junior seemed mollified by it.

"The project went great! At least, from a getting back at Jimmy Newly standpoint. You really should have been there, Rodney. We had to present our stuff to the class, and I told Jimmy Newly that since I'd done all the work he had to do the talking. And I gave him 'talking points," about how the formation of molecules was kind of like sex, and I convinced him that chemistry used the same vocabulary that we learned in health class. And he started rattling off all this stuff, and it got kind of raunchy there at a certain point, and Mrs. Darcy got all red in the face and made him stop."

Her mirth dampened a little at the next part of the story.

"Then, of course, Jimmy Newly ratted me out, and Mrs. Darcy got kind of mad. I have to stay after school for a week and help her sort through all the boxes of decorations for her bulletin boards. She knows how much I hate that. But it was still totally worth it. Jimmy Newly thinks he's God's gift because he has floppy hair, and I'm supposed to ignore the fact that he's a jerk and be all giggly about him and stuff." She snorted. "He _so_ had it coming."

"Well, it's good that you can't be taken in by things like...floppy hair."

"Yeah. My dad warned me about stuff."

"Yes, yes. That was very...forward-looking of him."

Rodney was beginning to think it was too bad no one had ever warned him.

His phone beeped, another call, and he told Sheppard Junior goodbye. He picked up the other line and had John's voice in his ear, "Hey, Rodney, what are you doing—"

"Nothing! I swear. I was just—"

_Pathetically mooning over you to your daughter._

"—tomorrow evening?" John sounded amused.

"Um. What?"

"I have a meeting downtown with my publisher. I thought we could grab a bite and try to work out why you keep sabotaging yourself on dates. Why do you sound all furtive and guilty?"

"I do not— Wait. Did you just ask me out to dinner?"

John laughed. "You can't put anything past a genius. Cana Rose at seven. Don't be late."

* * *

_#45: Forget what you think your type is. Men who love blondes end up marrying brunettes every day of the week. If you're convinced you can only be happy with someone who loves sumo wrestling and taxidermy, that's a great way to stay single. Put the checklist away, and you may be surprised to see who's been right there in front of you the whole time._

  
The fact that Rodney's most successful date so far was with Sheppard probably should have clued him in to _something_. Of course, it helped that John chose a place that served actual meat and not the god-awful bean sprout patties he'd endured his last time out, with Celia the macrobiotic dietician. It also didn't hurt that John was wearing jeans, comfortably worn, snug-fitting through his well-muscled thighs, making Rodney all too happily aware that John was a dedicated runner.

Over sirloins and Cabernet, Rodney grew downright expansive, telling stories about his scientific triumphs, and unlike most of his dates, John's face didn't glaze over at the first mention of thermal loading.

"The real breakthrough, of course, was finding a more efficient way to extract hydrogen." Rodney gestured with his fork. "Traditional electrolysis wastes up to three quarters of the potential energy. We had to do better than that if we were ever going to make it widely available as an alternative to oil."

Sheppard toyed with the olive in his martini glass, looking interested. "Really? Don't internal combustion engines convert only…what? Thirty percent?"

Rodney stared, he couldn't help himself, and Sheppard grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You have to know a thing or two about physics to fly helicopters, Rodney."

Rodney's eyebrows shot up. "You were a pilot?" Although he wasn't sure why he was surprised. Sheppard was a walking advertisement for flyboy rakishness.

"Ten years in the Air Force. So, your breakthrough?"

"Yes, yes. I was heading up a government lab at the time, top secret stuff." Rodney waved his hand. "I can't go into details, but suffice to say, there were at least a dozen other researchers all working on a new extraction process, including a hot blonde who wouldn't admit her attraction to me, although I always suspected that she was protesting too much… Anyway, it's not overstating the case to say that we would not be on the verge of bidding fossil fuels goodbye if not for yours truly."

Sheppard smiled. "Let me guess. You saved the day and got the hot blonde too?"

"Well…no." Rodney's shoulders slumped a little remembering his last conversation with Sam Carter. "Actually, she mentioned something about if I were the last man on earth and the extinction of the human race. But," he hurriedly added, "I still win at science. So, the Air Force led to a career as a relationship coach? Is shock and awe an advanced romantic tactic I just haven't got to yet?"

John laughed. "I had to do something after I left the military, and," he ducked his head, a modesty that didn't entirely suit him, "meeting women was something I knew about."

"You don't say," Rodney deadpanned. "So why'd you give up flying?"

John shook his head. "I keep a plane out at Burbank, take it up every weekend I get a chance. But I couldn't stay in the service once I had Carly and my wife," his voice got tighter, "was gone."

"Your wife— " It was a little startling that Rodney had never even considered the possibility of a Mrs. Sheppard. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize—"

"It's okay. That was a long time ago." The grim set of his mouth belied his assurance.

"So—" Rodney fumbled for a new topic.

"Maybe we should talk about your progress on the matrimonial front?" John helpfully supplied.

"There is none. Now it's my turn to the change the subject. Favorite movie?"

" _Back to the Future_. Why do you think your dates haven't worked out?"

Rodney shrugged. "I haven't met a woman who's appropriately sarcastic about flux capacitors?"

John gave him an innocent look. "You mean that wasn't how you solved the hydrogen extraction problem?" Rodney scowled, and John laughed. "I am serious about trying to figure out what's getting in your way with women."

Rodney sighed. "There's an outside chance that my personality may be a bit of hindrance. At least, that's what Sam Carter, the hot blonde, used to tell me."

"One person's opinion."

"Actually, there's a fairly widely held consensus on that."

John leaned in, close enough to make Rodney's breath hitch a little, his expression so sincere it made Rodney squirm. "You say what you think. Nobody ever has to guess where they stand with you. That's a good thing, a _very_ good thing even, and sooner or later, you'll meet someone who appreciates it."

"A glutton for punishment?" Rodney quipped, without any real humor.

John looked away. "Someone who's trusted the wrong person in the past and doesn't want to make the same mistake again." Rodney had the distinct impression this was more than canned relationship advice, but before he could ask, Sheppard had fallen back into his easy smile. "Now, what do you say about dessert? And you can tell me your stance on Star Trek."

After tiramisu and coffee and a spirited debate about Kirk as slut, yea or nay, they wound down the evening. Rodney wasn't even aware that he was walking John to his car, the way he did with his dates, until he was standing at the driver's side of the black Land Rover.

"So, this was fun," John said, his hand casually brushing Rodney's arm.

Actual physical contact, and Rodney's voice cracked, "Yes, we'll have to do it again the next time I totally strike out."

"If you show your dates this side of you, the way you were tonight, I'm going to be shopping for a wedding gift in no time." He clapped Rodney on the shoulder and got into his car.

Rodney walked to his own parking space on autopilot, nodding distractedly as Sheppard tooted the horn and drove off. He was too ridiculously pleased for his own good.

* * *

_#31: Your first impulse is usually right. The more you second guess yourself the farther you get from what you really want._

Rodney's pleased feeling soon segued into all-out mooning over John, which ultimately led to the predictable brooding.

It was so obvious that Cadman accosted him, "Why so glum, McKay?" She plunked down onto his desk, the threat perfectly clear. She was going to stay right there, driving him crazy, until he spilled everything.

"Fine. You want to know? I'll tell you. I've developed a bad habit of jerking off to fantasies about my relationship coach. Happy now?"

"Ewwwwww!" She wrinkled her nose. "Way too much information."

"You asked!"

"My mistake." Then her forehead creased, the way it did when she was dreaming up some new hair-brained publicity scheme. "Wait, isn't your relationship coach a man?"

"Wait," Rodney shot back, "haven't I fired you yet today?"

"He's got a kid too, if I remember correctly from Oprah," Cadman continued on undeterred. "Do you have any idea how much PR value there is in a ready-made alternative family? I could get you all over the business pages _and_ on the cover of _People_. We'd get even more play from this than the contract decision."

"Thank you for reducing my love life to circulation figures," he told her sourly.

"Love life, huh?" She leaned close, giving him a frog-eyed look of scrutiny.

"It's a general term!"

Rodney's cell phone rang conveniently, and he shooed Cadman away.

She left his office laughing. "Oh, McKay. You've got it _bad_."

Rodney answered, and it was Sheppard Junior, who cut right to the chase, "How do you spell the name of the guy who discovered the periodic table?" Since she'd gotten his phone number, she'd taken to treating him as her own personal Google.

"If I keep spoon feeding you answers, you're going to be too stupid to get into a decent physics program. Do you really want to wind up a liberal arts major?"

"Come on, Rodney. The time you save me looking up stuff is more time I have to work on my science fair project."

He sighed and spelled "Mendeleev" for her. "So, I was talking to your father the other night, he, uh…told me about your mother."

"Yeah?" Sheppard Jr. said distractedly. "The densest element is osmium, right?"

"Right. Do you— what was she like?"

He could almost hear her shrug. "I was just a baby. All Dad ever says is that she was pretty and laughed a lot." Her tone grew more confidential, "For a relationship coach, he's not much of a talker."

"That's your father's type then?" Rodney fished for information. "Attractive and— enjoys a good joke?"

"I guess," Sheppard Jr. said uncertainly. "Honestly? He doesn't really date. Which is kind of weird, again, for someone in his line of work, but good for me at least, no risk of ending up with an evil stepmonster. When Cassie Winegold's dad got remarried, she got packed off to boarding school. Do you know what element has the highest melting point? I always forget this."

"Look, I just thought I should say...it's possible that I am pathetically mooning over your father," he confessed. "Also, tungsten. You know— about the other thing."

"I kind of figured, Rodney," Sheppard Jr. told him. "About the pathetic mooning thing." She stage whispered into the phone, "I think he likes you, too."

Rodney sat up straighter. "Really? How do you know? Did he say something?"

He rolled his eyes at the ceiling. Why didn't he just slip John a note before gym class? _Do you like me? Check yes or no._ That had to be about as dignified as pumping his daughter for information. Not that he wasn't holding his breath waiting for Sheppard Junior's answer.

"He brings you up sometimes, at dinner and stuff. Like he'll say, 'I don't know why Rodney hasn't found somebody, he's a really good guy,' and things like that. Dad _never_ mentions his clients."

Rodney swallowed hard. Now that this was something like an actual possibility, he was practically paralyzed at the prospect. "I haven't— I'm not—"

"A veteran of the man love? Don't worry. Neither is Dad." John's voice called out in the background, and Sheppard Junior whispered, "Gotta go. I'm not supposed to be on the phone until I finish my homework. Talk to you later, Rodney."

"But—" The line went dead. "I know even less about men than I do about women."

At last the recording came on, _Please hang up and try your number again._ Rodney snapped his phone closed and pulled up the dating website on his computer and took the mechanical voice's advice.

* * *

_#96: If you meet someone and you're really smitten and you totally freak out, congratulations. You're officially a man. The panic will pass eventually. You just have hang in there and try not to do anything too stupid in the meantime._

  
Friday found Rodney back at Cana Rose, this time in the company of Helen Schmidt, self-made woman, chief executive of her own software company, the 2005 Entrepreneur of the Year. Maybe five feet tall, a hundred pounds, she had the appetite of a dozen longshoremen and ordered the 64-ounce T-bone, known affectionately on the menu as the "Elephant Choker." Rodney heartily approved and ordered the same for himself, and they spent the entire dinner conversation one-upping each other with stories of their corporate menace.

"I made my entire executive team cry once," Rodney remembered fondly. "And the best part was, they ended up apologizing to me, because they'd been wrong, wrong," he chuckled, "so very wrong."

Helen leaned in, a spark of challenge in her eyes. "Do you think they break out in hives at the mere sight of you? Because some of mine do. I hold quarterly off-sites just to see which ones will be popping Benadryl by the end of the weekend."

Needless to say, the date was going swimmingly.

Helen commandeered the check when it came. "The 21st century and all that." She plunked down her Am Ex and smiled. "So, shall we head over to my place? I'd like to have sex. What do you say?"

Rodney was beginning to see how forthrightness really could be a quality to prize.

Helen lived in the Hollywood hills in a tribute to minimalism, a house like a pile of children's blocks precariously clinging to the slope. She breezed him inside and onto the couch, brought back two glasses of Merlot from the kitchen, sat them down on the glass rectangle that served as a coffee table, hiked up her skirt and climbed him like the Matterhorn.

"Unless you want your wine first?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Uh." He shifted positions, trying to move the sensitive parts of him away from the bony parts of her. "No. This is—"

"Good." She made quick work of her tiny pearl buttons and flung off her blouse, and then Rodney had lipstick in his mouth and breasts in his hands.

"Mmmm," he murmured around her tongue.

She bit him and laughed. "Can I make you cry, Rodney?"

"Um—"

Apparently, it was mostly a rhetorical question. She worked her hands under his shirt and scratched at his nipples and rocked her body against his cock. "Come on, Rodney, come on."

He brought his hands up to the back of her neck, fingers curling into the tendrils that had worked free from her French twist. He summoned up all his laser-edged focus to channel into the kiss. Only…his thoughts kept sliding away to John, trying to picture what he might be doing, watering the lawn or finishing up paperwork at that ridiculous desk of his, and then he started to wonder if Sheppard Junior was keeping up her part of the bargain and working on her science fair project, and he dearly hoped she hadn't chosen some fluffy faux science that was a complete waste of time, like playing Mozart to a bunch of houseplants to see if it made them suddenly telekinetic or capable of advanced calculus...

Helen pulled back, a crease between her eyebrows. "You didn't have too much wine at dinner, did you?"

"No!" His face turned hot. "I'm just—"

She hefted herself up from his lap. "Not feeling it." She sighed. "Why can't men multitask like women do? You might have some passion left for something other than work."

"I'll have you know that I have plenty of—"

"Be a dear huh?" She collected her shoes and blouse. "Show yourself out?"

"I'm just going through a sort of transference thing—"

Her bedroom door banged closed.

"Fine," he muttered.

He seethed all the way back to the city, and before he'd come to any conscious decision, had already started making the turns to Pasadena. Eventually it occurred to him that maybe he should call first, "She said I don't have passion for anything but work! I'll have you know that I am _lousy_ with ardor. I can barely stand myself sometimes I'm so ruled by my animal nature."

"Rodney?" John sounded either sleepy or confused. It was hard to tell the difference.

" _Yes_ ," Rodney said impatiently. "I'm coming over. I'll be there in," he glanced around for a landmark, "oh, sometime tonight. I can't narrow it down more than that."

"I wasn't really planning on any appointments this evening—"

"You're my relationship coach, right? So, I need some emergency advice from the sidelines. And I need it now!"

John sighed. "Avoid the 101. There was an accident earlier. And Rodney? Try not to have an aneurysm before you get here."

Sensible advice, although hard to follow when Rodney's lust for life had been called into question. He was practically frothing at the mouth when Sheppard opened the door for him.

"How could she say that to me? Just because I didn't throw off my pants and start boning away five minutes after we got to her place." He looked John up and down, taking in the sweatpants and ratty T-shirt. "Did I drag you off the Bowflex?"

John slung an arm across his shoulders. "Come on, champ. Let's go into the office, and you can give me the disgruntled play-by-play."

Rodney dumped himself onto the couch, and John pulled two beers out of the mini fridge.

"You didn't offer me one of those the last time," Rodney said in a vaguely accusatory way.

John settled beside him. "I save the booze for special occasions, to celebrate an engagement, or keep someone from going on a killing spree."

"Can you believe her?"

"Maybe she just wasn't feeling very comfortable, and that was her way of—"

"The woman practically had her clothes off before the door closed! No," Rodney shook his head, "she meant what she said, that I'm inadequate. Me! And this was after we'd kissed. I'll have you know I'm a really good kisser."

John was nodding. "I'm sure that's true."

"I can provide references— Oh, forget it. Tell me you don't feel _this_ all the way down to your toes." He grabbed John and pushed their mouths together, and about a second into it, which was basically a second too late, the adrenaline from the fury wore off, and he was left with a deep, panicky sense of, "oh, shit!"

He was desperately sorting through possible excuses, or alternately trying to calculate how quickly he could run from the room, when the tension in John's arms disappeared and the grabbing became suddenly reciprocal. John licked at Rodney's mouth, and the kissing ratcheted up several notches, past torrid, closing in on frantic, and there was panting and sweating and some rather juvenile pawing at one another that Rodney thought might possibly be the best thing ever.

Maybe it was too much to hope that it wouldn't stop as abruptly as it had started, but Rodney had never been a poster boy for reasonable expectations, and he let out a wordless sound of "hey, where are you going" when John leaped up from the couch like he'd just remembered he was being scalded.

"So," John swiped a hand through his hair, looking agitated, "kissing technique not a problem. Maybe that woman just wasn't the right person for you."

"Duh," Rodney thought, but from the determined look of _nothing just happened here_ on John's face, there was no point in saying it.

* * *

_#4: A setback is just a setback is just a setback._

  
" _Now_ what's wrong with you?" was Cadman's way of greeting him bright and early Monday morning.

"Can't you say hello like a normal person?" He scowled at her.

"Yes," she said cheerfully, "to normal people." She plopped down onto his desk.

"Seriously not in the mood," he warned her.

She lifted an eyebrow. "Wet dream go bad?"

He could feel himself turning red like an infatuated adolescent. All he was missing were the pimples and the split second refractory period. His bitterness deepened.

"Oh, my God, McKay. Did something happen in actual _reality_?"

Her disbelief pissed him off—Cadman always had been able to push his buttons—and he blurted out, "He kissed me!" And immediately regretted having such a big mouth.

Cadman got bright-eyed and interested, the same expression she probably had when gossiping with her girlfriends, and Rodney could only look to the heavens and wonder how his life had devolved into this.

"Wasn't it any good?" she wanted to know. "Is that why you've gone all glum on me again?"

"The kiss wasn't bad," Rodney understated the case, "but we're two straight men. How well is that ever going to work out?"

"News flash, McKay. Straight guys don't, as a rule, spend much time kissing one another."

Rodney sighed. "Afterwards he acted like it hadn't happened."

"So? Obviously he's freaking out. What are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know!" Rodney leaped to his feet and started pacing. "Any tactical knowledge I have in this area came from him. I'm pretty sure he's immune to his own material."

"Let me think, let me think." Cadman tapped her index finger against her chin.

Rodney paced to the other side of his office and whirled around. "Can't you do that any faster?"

At the same moment, Cadman went scarily glinty-eyed. "I've got it! You need to make him jealous!"

Rodney cradled his head in his hands. "I can't believe I actually pay you."

"No, no, listen, McKay." Her cheeks were pink with excitement. "Here's what we do. We throw a party, to celebrate getting the contract. You invite your coach—"

"John," he supplied.

"Tell John there's this woman who's interested in you, and you're thinking about getting involved with her, but you want his professional opinion first."

"But there's no—"

She waved him off. "Leave that to me. I'll invite Simone Rivier—"

"Oh, my God!" Rodney shuddered. "You really do hate me. Simone River is—"

"The tackiest, most cold-blooded gold digger in the Western hemisphere?' She broke into a huge smile. "Don't you see how perfect it is? If the kiss was just a fluke and coach's only interested in you professionally, then he'll pull you aside for some friendly advice. But if it's more than that—"

"What? What?" Rodney demanded.

Cadman winked. "Somebody gets laid."

The heat rushed to Rodney's face. "That's, that's—" He broke into a huge smile. "Surprisingly brilliant given the source."

Cadman smirked. "Just remember that when you're planning your big, fat, gay wedding. I want to be a bridesmaid, and I get to pick the dress."

* * *

_#82: Men tend to think that sex solves everything, but doesn't necessarily mean anything. Hey, we all have our contradictions. Some are just more likely than others to leave you sleeping on the couch._

  
The party took place in a Malibu beach house, rented just for the occasion. There was a swing band, a champagne fountain, three ice sculptures, lobsters flown in from Maine, Beluga caviar fresh from Russia, and Rodney pulled Cadman aside with a hissed, "How much is this costing me exactly?"

She smiled sweetly. "If it bags you Mr. HotPants Relationship Coach, do you really care?"

On rare occasions, it was hard to argue with Cadman's logic.

John arrived, dressed in the specified black tie, a look so good on him it made Rodney's mouth go dry. He just was about to break for the door when Cadman pulled him back. "Try to play at least a little hard to get, McKay."

John scanned the crowd, and when he caught sight of Rodney, smiled and came to say hello. "So I finally get to see you in your natural element." He glanced at Cadman and then back at Rodney, and when Rodney made no move to introduce them, did the honors himself, "John Sheppard."

"Laura Cadman." She shook hands, holding on a little longer than Rodney cared for. "I've heard a lot about you." Rodney elbowed her, and she quickly added, "If you'll excuse me, I have to go ply some stockholders with alcohol."

She swished away, and John fixed Rodney with a puzzled smile.

"She's," he waved his hand, "fired." A waiter happened past with a tray of champagne, and Rodney snagged two glasses. "Here. I'm sure this is costing me a fortune, so please enjoy it as much as humanly possible."

John laughed and took a sip. "Not bad. Now, where's this contender you want me to check out?"

"Oh, I'm sure she'll be along any moment."

Simone Rivier was well known for her ability to track the wealthiest man in any room, a sort of gold-digger's radar, and Rodney and John were not even halfway through their champagne when she came plowing through the crowd, a cloud of citrus-scented perfume billowing around her, making Rodney sneeze.

"There you are." She attached herself to Rodney's arm like a bleached blonde barnacle. "What a lovely party. And aren't you looking handsome in your tuxedo. One of my admirers bought me this old thing I have one." She angled closer, as if her sequined evening gown couldn't be spotted from space, pressing her boobs against his chest. "But, of course, you have nothing to be jealous of, Roddie. He couldn't hold a candle to you." She blew a kiss at him.

John's forehead creased with consternation.

Simone must have smelled interference, because she tightened her grip on Rodney's arm. "Why don't you introduce me to your business acquaintances, Roddie? I'd love to meet them. Oh, and you know what this pretty view of the beach makes me think? We should plan a weekend away, go up to Carmel or Santa Barbara. Wouldn't that be fun?"

She spirited Rodney away, and they flitted butterfly fashion from group to group, and Rodney was forced to endure far too much of her nattering, most of which involved hinting at things she'd like him to buy for her. Every time Rodney glanced around, John was watching them, apparently eavesdropping too, his expression growing darker by the moment.

When he finally came to the rescue, Simone was still running off at the mouth, "It's not really true that diamonds are a girl's best friend. Now, emeralds on the other hand—"

"Excuse me," John pulled Rodney out of her grasp. "I need a word."

"Oh," the corners of her mouth turned down in exaggerated disappointment. "Hurry back, Roddie."

John dragged Rodney to the nearest private place, which happened to be the bedroom where the guests had piled their coats.

"Tell me that wasn't her. The woman you're interested in." John's jaw was clenched.

"That's Simone," Rodney said as blithely as he could manage. "So, what do you think?"

John stared at him. "Are you kidding me?"

"You don't like her?"

"Rodney, she's a man-eating bitch!"

"Don't you think maybe you're being a little harsh?"

"No!" Anger flashed in his eyes. "Watching her go after you was like watching some show on Animal Planet. _The World's Deadliest Predators_. Only with cleavage. She's obviously after your money. Hell, money is _all_ she talks about. You deserve so much better. At the _very_ least, somebody who actually wants you for you."

"Yes, well," Rodney said with a sigh, "I don't have someone like that. I have Simone. Sometimes you just have to play the cards you're dealt. So if you'll excuse me, I should get back—"

John caught him by the arm. "No. I'm not just going to stand back and let you do something this stupid."

"That's easy for you to say," Rodney was starting to get pissed, despite the pretense; he never appreciated having his intelligence questioned. "We're not all like you, God's gift to women."

"Shut up, Rodney," John said, voice tight.

"No, I will not—"

So John did it for him, mouth on his mouth, kissing away his sputtered indignation. It was precisely what Rodney had been hoping for, and yet that didn't mean he'd honestly expected it. He was just getting past the initial surprise, curling his fingers into John's jacket and pressing closer when John broke it off, his cheeks flushed, eyes wide and startled. "This is crazy."

Rodney sighed. This was seriously getting old.

But John was full of contradictions, because crazy or not, he was back again a second later, staking his claim to Rodney's personal space, kisses flying everywhere, hands pulling at Rodney's clothes, at his own, heat rising between them. They stumbled back a few steps, and Rodney landed with a soft "oof" on the bed, John on top of him, all angles and hard muscles, nothing like being in bed with a woman, and possibly the most arousing thing Rodney had ever experienced.

They got their shirts open, and Rodney traced patterns in the thick hair across John's chest. John fingered Rodney's nipples and pressed his face hotly to Rodney's throat.

He muttered against Rodney's skin, "Tell me you didn't really—"

"Just you. I only want you."

The reaction was instantaneous and physical, John's body jerking hard, his breath stuttering. He pushed his hand down the front of Rodney's pants, and then Rodney was the one flying apart.

"Fuck!" He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, momentarily, against the sensation of John palming and stroking his erection.

When he'd crested the dizzying wave of "oh, God, please don't let me come in my pants," he scrabbled at John's zipper, and then John's dick was in his hand, hot and straining and wet at the tip. Rodney's fantasies had been strangely circumspect in the anatomical sense, and the secret fear he'd pushed to the back of his mind was that he'd buckle pitifully when confronted with the realities of the sex he was so desperate for, but here it was now, and no pitiful buckling in sight. Rodney moved his fingers experimentally, and he felt the rush of John's breath, could almost _taste_ John moaning his name, and it was all suddenly clear. John's dick was just like the rest of him: gorgeous, and Rodney couldn't get enough.

John shoved his pants and underwear down his legs, and Rodney thrashed desperately until his were out of the way too. John settled between his thighs, and Rodney got the picture and opened his legs wider. John started to thrust against him, and Rodney pushed up into his weight, their cocks sliding together. They kissed frantically, wet, sucking sounds echoing off the empty walls, and there was nothing graceful about any of it, not their desperate lunging bodies or their greedy hands tangled up in each other's hair.

Some practical streak in John was all that stood between their clothes and certain ruin. At the last possible moment, he thought to push their shirttails out of the way, so they came all over each other's skin instead of fine-gauge cotton. Rodney felt warm and satisfied afterwards, his mind strangely, comfortably blank, all the thoughts sexed right out of him. The only thing that registered, that had any weight in his awareness, was John's body pressed next to his, John's smell that he had all over him, like some kind of prize.

John brushed a quick kiss to his temple and got up and came back with a washcloth. The nubby sweep of it made Rodney's belly dip and his skin buzz, and the desire for more, well before his body could deliver it, was already building steam. John was less careful with himself, a quick swipe over his belly and chest, and downright careless with the bedside table, where he plopped the wet cloth when he was finished with it.

"Rodney—" There was longing in the word, spiked with regret.

Rodney sat up, the pleasant daze of sex instantly gone. "Oh, for God's sakes. What now?"

"We shouldn't have done this."

Rodney glared at him. "Says the one of us who's not going to have to pay the dry cleaning bill for this mink coat we came all over." He shifted his body and looked and frowned. "Or possibly just have to replace it."

John mulishly soldiered on with his freakout, "Leaving aside for a moment the fact that _neither_ of us is gay—"

"Because that certainly didn't stop us from having sex," Rodney said snidely.

"You're my client, and sometimes that creates a sense of intimacy that's—"

"Oh, my God. Are you giving me a speech about transference? Because you're not my shrink, you know."

John looked no less tormented or stubborn. "There's still a line, and I shouldn't have crossed it."

He gathered up his clothes and shut himself in the bathroom and came back a few minutes later, mostly put back together.

"I'm sorry, Rodney," he said softly. "I really am."

When the door closed behind him, Rodney flopped back onto the bed, arm crooked over his eyes. In the hall, he could hear the muted throb of voices, Simone asking where Rodney was, John harder to make out, but Rodney thought he heard the word "beach," and then Simone's babbling was mercifully moving away.

Rodney stared up at the ceiling and wondered what he was supposed to do, who he was supposed to call, when it was his relationship coach who was driving him insane.

* * *

  
_#60: Giving up is a bachelor's strategy._

Rodney dedicated the remainder of the evening to putting the blot into blotto, thinking "John who?" before each glass of champagne. He wasn't entirely sure the next day, but he thought he might have insulted the former Miss California who was dating one of his board members by insisting that juggling wasn't an art and promised someone he'd buy them a pony for their next birthday. Thankfully, Cadman saved him from Simone Rivier, whispering into her ear that possibly Rodney wasn't as solvent as appearances would suggest, which promptly sent Simone scurrying. It was also Cadman who made sure he got home in one piece, enlisting help from the catering staff to haul him out to her car, and then somehow managing all by herself to wrangle him into his apartment and onto his bed.

"Do I get a raise for this, McKay?" She pressed a glass of water and some aspirin on him.

"Not fired," he mumbled and promptly passed out.

He woke up with a taste in his mouth like something had died in there, a pounding headache, and absolutely clarity that John Sheppard was completely full of shit. He downed a pot of coffee, showered, brushed his teeth at least a half dozen times, and found his way into some clothes. He drove through at the nearest McDonald's for round two of his morning coffee and a greasy hangover breakfast and ate it on the way to John's house.

At the back garden gate, he kept his finger on the bell until John's voice came over the intercom, muzzy and startled, "Hello?"

"Let me in," he demanded.

John met him in the hallway. "Rodney—"

"No, just shut up." He pulled John by the arm into his office and slammed the door. "I get to do the talking this time." He pointed a finger. "You're a fraud."

John shifted uneasily. "Look—"

Rodney jabbed at finger into his own chest. "Still talking! I don't know how you managed to turn yourself into a self-help guru, because you don't know _anything_ about relationships. In fact, you wouldn't know a good thing if you fell over it."

"Hey, I just wanted to write something funny about pick up lines!" John shot back, defensively. "My publisher was the one who spun it into—"

"You're scared shitless of getting involved with anybody," Rodney insisted. "Just admit it."

John's eyes went bright with anger. "It's not that simple. I have a kid to think about. I can't just take up with someone who might not—"

Rodney pressed his fingers into John's jaw, not all that gently, and pulled him into a kiss. "I happen to like your kid, okay? And for the record, I've never said those words before in my life. Also? I like _you_ , in case you hadn't noticed. And I'm pretty sure you like me too, despite the odds. And we have hot sex together. So—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," John muttered, and then there was more kissing.

Much, much more of it.

"You're very persistent, aren't you?" John said, lips against Rodney's temple.

"People usually call it something else," Rodney mumbled into his shoulder, "but persistent is good." He tightened his hold on John. "I just want you to give me a chance."

"I'm really bad at this," John admitted, in a cracked voice. "You were right when you said I'm a fraud."

"So we'll be bad at it together." Rodney brushed another kiss onto John's mouth. "We can pretend we haven't already screwed up rule #12 by sleeping together before actually going on a date, and you and Sheppard Junior can come to dinner at my place this Friday."

The corner of John's mouth turned up. "Sheppard Junior?"

"Is that a yes?"

A loud throat-clearing noise came from the other side of the room, and John and Rodney both practically jumped out of their skin.

Sheppard Junior filled the doorway, looking impatient. "Are you guys done with the kissing yet? I want Rodney to come check my equations for my science fair project."

"We weren't—" John started to deny, but just as quickly gave it up. "Rodney invited us over for dinner on Friday."

Sheppard Junior broke into a smile. "Cool! Hey, can I tell Melinda Jefferson that I'm going to have two dads? She's one of those nutty Christians who think gay people are the devil, and it will totally blow her mind."

"No!" John went bright red in the face. "Rodney and I aren't— not yet— We just— And what have I told you about saying things like 'nutty Christians'?

Sheppard Junior sighed. "Okay. I mean, I can be nice to her, if you want me to, even though she's all for oppressing you and Rodney." She went over to him and laid her head against his chest. "I just want you to be happy, Daddy."

John sighed heavily, but there really was no resisting it, and he brought his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

"Charming her way out of trouble. I can't imagine where she gets it," Rodney said dryly.

Sheppard Junior grinned, gave her father a big hug, and then pulled Rodney by the arm toward the door. "Come on. My equations."

Rodney suspected that John's smile as Sheppard Junior hustled him from the room roughly translated, _Hey, you signed on for this._

* * *

_#37: It's all too easy to lose perspective about a first date. Some guys think they have to whisk that special someone off to Paris for a five-star meal at a restaurant whose name they can't even pronounce. Other guys are deluded enough to believe that the neighborhood hot dog stand has a lot of ambience. Somewhere between the Champs-Elysees and the Chili Dog Hut, that's where you'll find your successful first date._

Rodney approached the problem of what to serve John and Sheppard Junior with the same rigor he put into his company's research and development projects. He drew up a list of possible entrees and created a matrix of pros and cons and came up with a predictive algorithm to determine which meal was most likely to suit both Sheppards, and still ended up making three trips to the grocery store, second-guessing himself.

Friday night, the bell rang on the dot of seven, and Sheppard Junior came bounding inside, surprising him with a hug, which he returned a little stiffly, more pleased than he cared to admit. John strolled in smiling, holding out a brown paper bag, jaw-dropping in black pants and a black sweater. Rodney took a moment to stare.

"We brought ice cream," Sheppard Junior said and then lowered her voice confidentially, "It was my idea."

"Very thoughtful." Rodney waved them into the kitchen. "Let's get that in the freezer. Dinner should be ready soon."

Sheppard Junior craned her neck, checking out the pots on the stove. "I hope it's something age appropriate."

"Carly!" John shot Rodney a look of apology.

"I'm just saying," Sheppard Junior defended herself. "No kid likes olives and smoked oysters and all that weird stuff grownups eat."

"Does spaghetti and meatballs meet your exacting standards?"

She grinned. "I knew you were a keeper, Rodney."

Shroedinger poked his head around the corner, and Carly was off like a shot to pet him.

"Dad, Rodney has a cat. Why can't we have one?" She hugged Shroedinger to her chest, her expression wide and innocent, like something from a "Love is a warm kitty" poster.

"Because I know how good you are at helping take care of Fruit Loop?" They'd clearly had this conversation before.

She made big, pleading eyes. "I can reform."

"Why don't we talk about this when we get home?"

She sighed heavily. "O-kay."

John turned back to Rodney. "So—"

Rodney shifted his weight. "So—"

"Hey, Rodney, what's your cat's name?" Sheppard Junior glanced up, and went still, her face lighting with comprehension. "Um...I'm just going to," she scrambled to her feet, "go look into drawers and closets and be nosy and stuff." She headed off down the hall, Shroedinger purring in her arms.

"Carly!" John started after her, but then looked longingly at Rodney, clearly conflicted.

"I keep everything dirty or dangerous under lock and key, I swear," Rodney assured him.

John smiled and came nearer, and there was a clumsy moment when neither of them seemed quite sure how to close to the deal, and then John pulled Rodney into his arms. "Hey."

Rodney smiled. "Hey."

They kissed hello, and Rodney slid his fingers into John's soft, soft hair, and that was it for nervousness.

"It's an irony, you know."

"What?" John rubbed a hand over his back.

"You look so incredibly good in those clothes all I can think about is getting you out of them."

John laughed, his breath hot against Rodney's neck. "We'll have to discuss that later."

A creaking floorboard made them pull away, and Carly came tiptoeing back down the hall. "Enough kissing time? 'Cause I'm all about doing my part for the two-dads plan, especially if I'm getting a father who's actually useful in the kitchen."

"Oh yeah?' John made a sneak attack, catching her before she could run, and tickled until she was red-faced and giggling.

Rodney watched with a mix of amazement and envy. Parents and children actually liking each other was new territory for him.

"Okay." He clapped his hands together. "Who's helping with dinner?"

Sheppard Junior's hand shot up, and she and John tag-teamed the salad. Rodney served up the pasta, and they sat down to eat.

"Mmm," Carly said around a mouth full of meatballs.

"Yeah, Rodney, I'm impressed."

Rodney snorted. "I never do anything I'm not good at."

John coughed, wine coming out his nose, and Rodney's face went hot thinking about the interpretation John must have given that statement. Sheppard Junior rolled her eyes at both of them.

"I didn't get any wine," she said innocently, and John pointed her back to her plate, and she sighed, "Yeah, yeah." She spooled a large wad of spaghetti around her fork. "Rodney, did you know my dad is going to give me flying lessons when I'm old enough? So I can be a pilot just like him."

"You like planes?" Then he frowned. "Wait. I thought you were going to be a physicist?"

She grinned, tomato sauce smeared across her teeth. "I can do both, don't worry. Last summer, we took a trip in dad's plane up to Canada, and it was so clear the whole way we could see everything, and then we went camping in Banff, and there was a wolf and an elk and a marmot.

"And a mountain goat," John added with a wave of his fork.

"Yeah!" Carly said excitedly. "And then we went to that place—" She looked to her father.

"Lake Louise."

Carly nodded. "And we went fishing and swimming and—"

"Canoeing," John finished the sentence with her. He smiled. "We had a lot of fun."

They told more stories, places they'd been, things they'd done, and Carly never passed over an opportunity to plug her father to Rodney: _he's a really good skier_ and _did you know my dad got a medal for being in the Gulf War?_ and _even though he's no good in the kitchen, he can fix anything around the house_.

John paid her back with embarrassing tales of her childhood. "I never did figure out why she thought it was a good idea to take my electric razor to her hair," John shook his head sadly, "but, boy, did she look funny."

"Dad!" she hissed at him.

Rodney couldn't help laughing. "Are there pictures?"

John smiled broadly. "Oh, yeah. Next time you're over at the house—"

"Moving on now," Sheppard Junior said breezily.

If Rodney hadn't already been a fool for their father-daughter act, dinner would have sealed the deal.

John and Carly helped him carry the dishes back into the kitchen, and they took their ice cream into the living room. Carly challenged Rodney to a Gran Turismo death match on the PlayStation.

"Bring it on," he told her.

"Watch out, Rodney. She's a shark," John warned.

Rodney made an "oh, please, she's eleven" face, but the moment the game started up, Sheppard Junior's expression turned deadly serious, her hand flying on the controller, and Rodney had to wonder where she'd learned to trash talk like that. He cast a baleful glance at John, who shrugged as if to say, "It's not like I have any control over the kid." Rodney buckled down, take no prisoners time, but Sheppard Junior was soon kicking his ass anyway. He shot John another look, this time accusing, because clearly his daughter was a ringer, and found John watching them, something warm and soft and fond in his eyes.

It didn't matter quite so much when his last car went up in flames.

He brought John more wine, and Carly more ice cream, and told some stories of his own, how he'd utterly eviscerated his thesis advisor's pet theory in the first paper he ever published because the guy was just so smug and not nearly smart enough to justify it, which made Carly snort in appreciation. He even admitted the time he'd blown a small crater in the floor of his high school chemistry lab because he'd misread some labels and accidentally added lead oxid to styphnic acid—just to see John grin. After a while, Sheppard Junior's head started to droop, and finally settled onto her father's shoulder, and despite her obvious, valiant efforts to stay awake, her eyes drifted closed.

John rubbed her arm. "You ready to go?"

She shook her head emphatically, but couldn't stifle a yawn, and John laughed. "Well, I'm not as young as I used to be, so—"

She yawned again. "Okay." She slowly got to her feet and stretched and then gave Rodney a sleepy hug, mumbling, "I'll go wait by the elevator, but if you keep dad in here too long, I'll have to come back and interrupt your boyfriend time, and that's just embarrassing for everyone."

"I'll be right there, honey," John told her.

The door snicked closed after her, and this time, they had the kissing thing down, major progress on the hugging front too, and Rodney wouldn't have let John go at all, except for the sleepy kid waiting out in the hall.

"I had a really good time," John said as Rodney walked him to the door. "Thanks for inviting Carly too. That means a lot to me." He emphasized it with a kiss. "How about you come over tomorrow night? Carly's staying with a friend. Like she said, I'm no cook, but I can order pizza and open a bottle of wine. We'd have all night—

Rodney met his eyes. "Are you asking me to—"

John grinned. "Yeah."

Rodney kissed the hell out of him. "Is it tomorrow yet?"

* * *

_#55: Guys tend to freak out about the quiet moments. We're afraid someone's going to talk about a feeling, and civilization as we know it will collapse, and we really just want to turn on the TV. But the thing about those quiet moments is: that's when you realize what a good thing you've got._

 

The next night felt less like a second date and more like the beginning of the rest of Rodney's life.

"I can't believe you rented the entire trilogy." Rodney rolled his eyes as Marty and Doc Brown rigged up the oh-so-likely lightning-powered return to the future.

John lounged casually, feet up on the coffee table, his head on Rodney's shoulder. "Didn't. I own it."

Rodney sighed dramatically, and John laughed at him, and Rodney pressed a kiss into his hair, because he wanted to and he could and that was the very definition of "it doesn't get any better than this." He was pretty sure it would never matter again how dim-witted Hollywood science was; these air-headed movies were going to make him ridiculously happy for the rest of life, remembering pizza and wine with too much cork in it and John's dumb jokes about particle acceleration and getting to hold him through all three films. John reached for his glass, and ran his hand slowly down Rodney's thigh, as he had every time he'd leaned forward. Rodney had been half hard, in a pleasantly anticipatory way, since they'd finished dinner.

When Doc Brown was saved at last, John sighed and stretched and leaned in for a kiss, before getting up to carry their dishes to the kitchen. He came back, but didn't resume his sprawl on the couch. They hadn't bothered with the lights, and John's expression was obscured in shadows, but the way he stood there, one hand on his hip, was clearly a question mark. "Okay if we—?"

Rodney scrambled to his feet. It was much, much more than okay. He followed John down the hall. There was a lamp on the nightstand in the bedroom that John turned on, soft yellow light pooling on the fawn-colored walls. The first time had been heat of the moment, but this was deliberate, chosen, and they eyed each other speculatively. Rodney's throat tightened with want, and John laughed softly. "Come here."

John pulled him by the belt loops, and folding himself into John's embrace already felt like second nature. Rodney rubbed his nose against John's sweater and breathed in. John smelled good. They kissed, curious and unrushed.

"Mmm," Rodney murmured.

John kissed Rodney's neck and pulled away. Rodney shivered at the momentary loss of warmth, but then John stripped his shirt up over his head and dropped it on the floor, and the heat rushed back, a sudden swelter on Rodney's skin. The house was still and quiet, their harsh intake of air the only sound, physical and promising. Rodney touched John's chest in wonder, soft hair, warm skin. "You'd think it would be weirder, this being with a man thing." His voice sounded too close, echoing in his own ears.

"Yeah." John's belly dipped with his breath. He slipped a hand under Rodney's shirt, stroked his side. "Can I?"

Rodney nodded, and lifted his arms, and his shirt blotted out the light for a second, and there was a rush of cool air on his chest. John's hands settled on Rodney's hips, and he licked the hollow of his collarbone. Rodney's nipples tightened at the sensation, and John breathed a laugh against his skin, and bent his head to kiss them.

Rodney traced the outline of John's dick, obvious beneath his jeans, his fingers shaking. "Can I?"

John stroked the hair at the back of Rodney's neck and pulled him into a kiss, and Rodney took that for a yes. He shoved John's pants down his legs, and John's dick was hot against his palm, and it fit his hand perfectly. John moaned, and fumbled with Rodney's zipper. They kicked off the rest of their clothes, and stood there looking and touching each, all very arousing and junior-high-school-like in its trembling, sweet "will he like this or should I do it more like that?"

"Have you ever," Rodney asked, dry mouthed, "before? Besides the other night?"

John shook his head, but then thought twice about it, "Well, okay, a couple of times in combat, after missions when we hadn't been so sure we were going to make it back, and then we did, and there was all this adrenaline and nothing to do with it, but—"

"I'd say that qualifies as experience."

"Yeah, if you want the fastest handjob in human history, that we never talk about again, and we can't look each other in the eye for days afterwards, and end up picking up the clap while drunkenly trying to reestablish our heterosexual credentials with some twenty-dollar hookers."

"So…no, then."

John's eyes crinkled at the corners, and he took Rodney's hand. They'd already been naked in bed together, but not in _John's_ bed, and Rodney could hear the rush of his own blood in his ears as John threw the covers back. John pushed Rodney onto his back and lay half draped over him and worried a spot on the underside of his jaw that was surprisingly sensitive. He'd been on top the other time too, and Rodney idly wondered if that was how John envisioned their relationship, with Rodney on his back. Then John started to kiss his way downward, and Rodney thought, _It's a good vision. I like it._

John bent down and pressed a kiss to Rodney's cock, angled his head, first this way and then that, and went down. False start, and he tried again, and this time started to choke.

Rodney stroked his hair. "You don't have to."

"I want to." John hunkered down, hand splayed across Rodney's hip. "I just might, you know, need a minute."

Third time was the charm, though. John blew warm air on the head of Rodney's dick and wrapped his hand around the base and licked experimentally. He had an expression of consideration at the taste, and then nodded slightly, and started to suck.

"God," Rodney moaned, and slid his hand up John's shoulder, across his neck, into his hair.

Apparently, this was enough to encourage John to get fancy, and he started to trace patterns on the shaft with his tongue and move his hand and try to take more of it into his mouth. Rodney's fingers curled more tightly into his hair, even though he was trying not to be a jerk about it, and John didn't seem to mind. He sucked harder, and Rodney started to make urgent noises because as much as he'd like this to go on forever he was going to come very, very soon.

John played stubborn and wouldn't move away, and Rodney arched up and squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed at the sheets. John seemed to have found his equilibrium, and he swallowed what he could and pulled off and stroked Rodney with his hand through the rest of his orgasm.

Rodney was a little blurred around the edges there for a moment or two, or possibly three, but then he registered John kneeling over him, smiling like he was far too pleased with himself, and Rodney pulled him down into a kiss. There was the taste of his come in John's mouth, and he thought to ask, "It was okay?"

John nodded, and kissed him again. His hair was slightly damp around his face, as if he'd worked up a sweat sucking Rodney off. Rodney liked that, quite a lot actually, and he stroked a hand down John's belly and into the curly hair above his dick, scratching lightly. John made a frantic lunge with his hips, trying to get Rodney's hand where he wanted it, and Rodney could feel the taut flex of his muscles, the buzz of need.

He strung kisses along John's jaw and closed his palm around his cock. "Can I suck you?"

John shook his head, tendon standing out on the side of his neck. "Not going to last."

He thrust into Rodney's fist, and Rodney tightened his grip, and John made a thoroughly gratifying little whimper, not once, but repeatedly until he came. He flopped onto his back, and Rodney scooted closer. John curved an arm around his shoulders and tugged until Rodney's head was on his chest, and then he let out a big, breathy, "Mmm."

Rodney lazed against him, eyes closed. "I'd say we're getting pretty good at this gay sex thing."

"Mmm," John said again, and then after a moment, "Which is kind of a relief, since you only do things you're good at."

"You'll be the beneficiary of my type-A perfectionism," Rodney informed him loftily, "so I wouldn't complain, if I were you."

He didn't have to see John's smile to know it was one of the goofy ones. "Definitely not complaining here."

Rodney pressed closer and let out his breath. He didn't think he'd be up for a round two, the biological realities of the forty-year-old male body being what they were, but this was good. This was perfect. He really, really liked this. A lot.

Then a different kind of consideration made him crack an eye open. "Um, is it okay if— Or should I—"

"Stay," John murmured sleepily into his hair. "Carly's supposed to call me tomorrow to go pick her up. We can have breakfast before."

"Mmm," was the last thing Rodney remembered saying before falling asleep.

He woke the next day when sunlight started spilling into the room, warm and comfortable and curved along John's back, his cock morning hard and happily pressed against John's ass. He yawned and kissed John's shoulder and tightened his arm around his waist. That's when something moved, and he looked, and sat bolt upright, yanking the blanket all the way up to his chin.

"What—?" John murmured.

Rodney poked him.

"Ow!"

This finally got him to open his eyes, and then he jolted up as well.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded of Carly. "I was supposed to come get you."

Carly nodded. "But Veronica came down with something, we're talking major barfing, and her mom dropped me home, so I wouldn't get sick, too." She broke into a huge grin. "Melinda Jefferson is going to have a seizure when I tell her about this."

John pointed to the door.

"Okay, okay, I'm going. Didn't mean to," she waved her hand, "interrupt or anything." She stopped in the doorway and smiled. "I'm going to like having two dads. Just so you know."

She left, and John chuffed out a heavy breath. "So—" His expression was a little apologetic and definitely freaked out.

"Waffles?" Rodney said, with an uncertain smile.

It took a moment, but then John was shaking with laughter and reached to kiss him. "As long as you're doing the cooking."

* * *

_#21: Some people think about relationships as adding that last piece of the puzzle. Imagine their surprise when falling in love shakes up the entire jigsaw of their life and puts it all back together again in a completely different order. When you find someone you want to settle down with, your priorities change. You can try to fight it, but the odds are seriously against you._

By the six-month mark, Rodney and Shroedinger had more or less become residents of Pasadena, although Rodney still contended that it was ridiculously far away from the ocean, and while he would never believe that Kavanaugh was anything less than an idiot, he had begun to see the merits of having someone (two someones, in fact) to come home to at night.

Not everyone at the office could quite grasp that there was a new Rodney McKay in town. Witness his most recent staff briefing.

"I'm arranging town meetings across the country," Cadman announced. "Part promotion, part education. It'll be our chance to talk to people directly about the benefits of the new fuel. I'll need someone from the research team to answer questions at each one."

"You'll probably want to make those appearances personally, won't you, Dr. McKay?" ventured Theodore Beemish, the VP in charge of R&D, a graying mouse of a man who had never learned to call Rodney by his first name, no matter how many times he'd been invited to.

Rodney waved his hand. "I'm not really interested in making a lot of business trips right now. I'll do the first one, and, let's say, three more that are especially important."

"Houston, for instance," Cadman suggested.

He nodded. "Oil country. People probably hate our guts there. But otherwise, I leave it in your hands, Theodore. Go yourself or assign your people. It's up to you."

There was dead silence around the table, followed by a chain reaction of wary glances.

Bill Newmar, the Chief Financial Officer, spoke up, "Next Thursday, we have our first meeting with the government auditor. The numbers are all ready to go. I assume you'll want to head up the presentation?"

Rodney shook his head. "Regional science fair that day. Promised Sheppard Junior I'd be there. You can take the lead, Bill."

Nervous young Becky Windmiller raised her hand, which Rodney had asked her so many times not to do. "I should have the updated sales models for you by nine tonight, Dr. McKay."

"Make it first thing tomorrow morning," he said, pushing back from the table. "I'm fixing Mexican for dinner, and if I'm late, there won't be time for homemade tortillas. Are we done here?"

Each person looked to the next, and at last, they all hesitantly nodded.

Mildred walked with Rodney back to his office. "I'll get these meeting notes right out, Dr. McKay."

Rodney was frowning. "What was wrong with those imbeciles today? They stared at me like I had three heads every time I opened my mouth."

Mildred shrugged. "I guess they're just not used to you actually letting them do their jobs."

On Rodney's desk was the daily stack of press clippings, and he leafed through them, stopping only when he saw a familiar shock of unruly hair.

"Cadman!" he yelled, loud enough that she could hear him three offices over.

She sauntered in looking innocent.

He held up the article, from the society page of the _Los Angeles Times_ , and read the headline, "Alternative Relationship for Alternate Fuel Pioneer and Love Doc." It was complete with a picture of John and Rodney, leaving Cana Rose, holding hands. "What the hell is this?"

She shrugged.

He glared.

"Hey," she reminded him, "it's what you pay me for."

He was too frantic to actually fire her, and just made shooing hands and yanked up the phone. "It's not my fault!" he babbled when John picked up. "I didn't know, and I would never have allowed it if I had. I swear, you have to believe me."

"Breathe, Rodney," John sounded amused. "Is this about today's paper?"

"I haven't fired Cadman yet, but only because I wanted to call and beg you not to hate me first."

"Rodney, I'm not upset. This was bound to happen sometime. We're both in the public eye, and I don't care who knows about us." His tone grew more teasing, "What? Were you worried I'd think the last six months were just some sort of very slow-motioned Machiavellian scheme to get your name in the paper? Not that I doubt your ability to plot and machinate when it comes to business, of course."

"Well...good." It wasn't often that Rodney was struck practically speechless.

John laughed. "Yeah. It is. So," his voice dropped into a more intimate octave, "see you at home tonight?"

Rodney checked the clock on his computer. For the first time in his life, the workday felt long.

* * *

_#92: If you think true love means never having to say "I can't believe you did that," then you're in for a rude awakening. Meant to be doesn't mean problem free._

 

The 405 was a stubborn snarl. In the passenger seat, Carly was picking the sand out of her sneakers, grinding it into the floor mat, and when Rodney scowled, actually had the temerity to grin. "I guess maybe I should do that later, huh?"

He made an indignant face in reply, and she grinned harder.

"So, how was...volleyball?" He kept his voice as free from value judgment as he could manage.

John had had a talk with him in their first month together, reminding him that Carly was a kid and needed fun as much as intellectual stimulation, gently, kindly laying down the law that Rodney wasn't allowed to push her to spend all her time studying physics.

Carly shrugged. "I did pretty good. Busting the curve on the old height chart comes in handy occasionally."

"Oh, please. Being tall and gorgeous is going to work out as well for you as it has your father, trust me. You just have to wait for boys to stop being stupid."

Carly giggled. "You're a pal, Rodney. You know that?"

At home, she clamored up the stairs, headed to her room. "I've got to call Marcy. Her mom promised to drive us to the mall tonight."

"John?" Rodney called out.

There was no answer, and he went to check the office, but the door was open and the room empty. He happened to glance out the window, and standing in the back yard by the rose trellis was John, along with a woman Rodney didn't recognize. A _beautiful_ woman, to be more precise, and she and John were standing very close together, matching expressions of intensity on their faces, deep in conversation. The shock of it was a punch to the gut, and Rodney turned on his heel and beat a retreat to the kitchen, where he tried to distract himself making coffee, not very successfully. Memories of his parents' marriage, their mutual infidelities, numerous and destructive, flashed back at him, and a resigned voice in his head wouldn't shut up, _You always knew it was too good to last._

Whatever hope he'd clutched at, that he was wrong, wrong, all wrong, was promptly crushed when John finally came back inside, looking preoccupied and guilty as hell.

"Everything all right?" Rodney asked.

John nodded, not meeting his eye.

"What were you doing?" he tried to sound casual.

John shrugged. "Just getting some air."

It was worse that night when they went to bed. Rodney curled up against John's back, the way they always slept, but John tensed, and Rodney pulled away.

"Sorry," John mumbled. "I guess I'm just tired."

Carly was spending the next day at Veronica's, and the house was practically tomb-like without her. John and Rodney found maybe a handful of things to say to each other all afternoon, and by evening, Rodney had had as much as he could stand of dread and tension. He stomped into the office where John had been hiding out, ready to fling an outraged "this has to stop" at him.

But John beat him to it. "You saved me a trip to look for you. There's something I need to tell you."

All the air went out of Rodney now that the confrontation was actually underway, and he numbly sat down.

John couldn't even look at him, and he deliberated over every word, "Rodney, I've done something—really bad. I've tried to keep it a secret but—"

The only thing worse than a confession of infidelity was one delivered in such excruciating slow motion, and Rodney cut to the chase, "Who is she? How long have you been seeing each other? Do you love her?"

John looked stunned. "I'm not cheating on you."

"I saw you two out in the garden! And you just said—"

"There are other kinds of bad secrets!" John took a breath, and then his eyes slid away from Rodney's again. "The woman you saw—that was Linda. My wife. _Ex_ wife.

Rodney sat there motionless. "But she's—" And then he got it. "Oh, God. _That_ kind of bad secret."

"I couldn't tell you the truth before, because Carly doesn't—I know you must think I'm a horrible person," John sounded desperate.

"I don't—"

"All I wanted was to protect my daughter, I swear to God."

"By lying to her?"

"You don't know what that woman's like, Rodney!" He made a visible effort to calm down. "Sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Just tell me what happened."

John shook his head. "I don't even know sometimes how we ever ended up together. Because it was never right. She hated being a military wife, and I loved being a pilot, and...one day I came home, and she was just gone. And so was Carly."

" _What_?" Rodney was honestly shocked.

John's anger at the memory was clear. "You have to understand. She never wanted kids. Not even after Carly was born. But she _took_ her, and you know why?"

Rodney shook his head. He couldn't imagine.

"Money. She refused to tell me where she had Carly until I paid her off. And when I finally had my kid back, I just wanted Linda to go the hell away and stay away, and she did." John let out his breath wearily. "Only I couldn't tell Carly that. Couldn't let her think— Kids always assume it's their fault. It just seemed easier if Linda were—"

Rodney went to John and put his arms around him. He couldn't say he thought what John had done was right. He couldn't say he wouldn't have done exactly the same thing himself under the circumstances.

"It didn't take long to figure out how majorly I'd fucked up making up that stupid story, and I've tried to figure out some way to tell Carly the truth without having her hate me, but I never could bring myself to—and now Linda's resurfaced."

"She's come to her senses. She wants you and Carly back." It came out remarkably matter-of-factly given that Rodney had never been so sick with fear in his life.

John's laugh was short and bitter. "She hasn't changed. She read in the paper that I have a rich boyfriend, and somehow she found out that I'd lied to Carly. She saw dollar signs."

Rodney stared. "She isn't going to—"

"Unless I pay her off. Which I'm _not_ going to do. I know her. It would never end. I have to tell Carly the truth, deal with the consequences." He set his jaw grimly. "That's why I needed to tell you first, because things are going to be...bad for a while, and I just—wanted you to be ready."

"Don't do anything," Rodney told him. "Let me handle it. I can make this go away."

John shook his head emphatically. "No, Rodney. I'm serious. Linda knows she has me by the balls, and no amount of money will ever be enough." He sighed heavily. "I made this mess. I have to fix it. I'm just afraid—"

"Hey," Rodney squeezed his shoulder, "it's going to be okay. Carly will—"

"What if she wants to meet her mother?" His expression was crazed with worry. "And what if Linda's...still Linda, and breaks her heart?"

Rodney's mouth pressed into a grim line. Like hell that was going to happen.

* * *

_#9: If you have to fight off someone else to be with your special someone, a certain degree of unsportsmanlike conduct may be necessary._

Rodney couldn't help imagining (one might even say obsessing over) the woman who'd been lucky enough to get John and Sheppard Junior in the great lotto of life and walked away like they meant nothing. It was easy to build her up to be a monster, child abandonment and extortion were pretty good foundations for that, and Rodney stored up a supply of anticipatory adjectives: cold, calculating, vicious, narcissistic, pathological, stupid. What he hadn't been expecting was: glib.

Cadman gave him a list of out-of-the-way places good for discreet conversations, and she didn't even ask the usual million questions. That's how grave Rodney must have looked when he went to her for help. Linda had insisted she was only free late Saturday afternoon, putting Rodney in the awkward position of having to lie to John. She breezed into the bar nearly an hour late, throwing off her coat and taking a seat with a careless smile. "Never on time. That's me. Is that Scotch you've got there? I'm in the mood for something frivolous." She flagged down the waitress and ordered a champagne cocktail.

Linda had honey-colored hair, long and straight, brown eyes bright with amusement, and the kind of obvious prettiness that starred in beauty pageants at state fairs, as fresh-faced as a twenty-year-old, although she must have been in her late thirties by now.

"So, I guess those gossipy articles were right. You and Johnny really are a couple," her eyes moved over him inquisitively, "or you wouldn't be here, would you?" She laughed. "My ladykiller of an ex-husband likes cock now. Imagine that."

Rodney smiled flatly. "I'm glad we entertain you."

"Oh, you'd laugh too if you'd known him back in the day. He'd come into the bar where all the pilots hung out, in his jeans and his black T-shirts, just running over with charm. There wasn't a woman he couldn't get." She made a wry face. "Problem was, he didn't know how to keep them. I'm living proof."

"Well," Rodney said curtly, "he manages just fine with men. _I'm_ proof of that." He leaned forward. "Let's cut the bullshit."

She settled her elbows onto the table and rested her chin on her hands, her mirth not the least bit dimmed. "Will you want to lecture me first? Or should we just talk numbers? I do have to warn you that staying away from my own flesh and blood—" She bent her head in a mockery of sadness. "It's cost me over the years." She smiled sweetly. "So it won't come cheap to you."

"That's not the deal," Rodney informed her.

Finally, there was a chink in her blithe facade. "But you said—"

"Shut up. I'll do the talking. And let's be clear. This isn't a negotiation. This is a yes-or-no proposition. John is going to tell your daughter the truth, so there will be no blackmail. I am, however, prepared to offer you a _job_ , let's call it. You'll receive a monthly salary." He wrote a figure on a cocktail napkin and shoved it at her. "I think you'll find it more than generous."

She raised an eyebrow. "Won't that scandalize your shareholders if they ever find out?"

"You'll be in my personal employ," he told her. "And your one and only responsibility is to give Carly whatever she wants. If she's happy with you staying as good as dead, then leave her alone. If she wants you in her life, you will call and send birthday cards and sit in the front row at her science fairs and clap and smile and tell her how proud you are. You'll be the most attentive mother on the planet. Got it?"

Linda tilted her head. "You really care about them, don't you?"

Rodney threw some money onto the table for their drinks and got to his feet. "You have until noon tomorrow to think it over." He started away, but then realized he'd forgotten something, and turned back. "Oh, and if you ever get the bright idea of telling Carly about our deal, for whatever reason, spite or greed or just because you can, let me assure you, that will be the end of the money. You can be set for life, or you can be a bitch, it's up to you."

He'd barely gotten out of the parking lot before his cell phone was ringing.

* * *

_#73: So one day, everything seems clear, all smooth sailing, and the next, you're having these conversations that guys hate. Who are we as a couple? What does it mean for us to be together? How can we make this work for both of us? It may be hard to believe, but this actually means you're getting it right._

At home, Rodney found John waiting for him in their bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking tense.

"Work go okay?" he asked, something in his voice that was hard to decipher. "You get everything finished?"

Rodney had latched onto the first convenient excuse, an urgent project, stammering his way through reasons why he couldn't just work on his laptop at home, security issues and government clearance and...stuff.

"Fine, fine." He set his keys down on the dresser. "Everything's fine now."

"Really?" John's eyes were fastened on him. "Because I called you at the office, and you didn't pick up."

Rodney froze in the middle of dumping out his change onto his nightstand. "I was—" He waved his hand. "Ignoring the phone, so I could finish up, and get home. You always call me on my cell. If I'd known it was you—"

John crossed his arms over his chest. "I lied. I didn't call. I just wanted to see what you'd say."

"You know, you're supposed to be the un-Machiavellian one of us," Rodney muttered.

John got to his feet angrily. "Where the hell have you been?" He narrowed his eyes. "What did you do?"

No use denying anything now, and Rodney lifted his chin. "I couldn't just stand by and watch her hurt you and Carly."

"I told you to stay out of it!"

"Yes. Well. I didn't."

"You can't just— She's not your daughter, Rodney!"

Rodney flinched as surely as if he'd been slapped, but that was followed quickly by anger. "No. That's right. She's not. She's _yours_. Why the hell do you think I love her so much?" His voice rose on each word.

"Rodney," John said more quietly. "I didn't mean— I shouldn't have—"

"I thought we were going to be a family." He felt almost foolish saying it, like he was confessing something. "Families take care of each other, don't they? Or maybe I got that part wrong. Because, hey, my family was seriously fucked up. So it's not like I have any particularly useful firsthand knowledge of the subject."

"Come on. You have to realize— I'm no good at saying...but. You know that we— That I—"  
John met his gaze helplessly, and Rodney didn't have to let him off the hook, the old Rodney certainly wouldn't have, but John looked so miserable and sorry and tongue-tied.

Rodney took a step toward him. "You were voted least likely to become a relationship coach in high school, weren't you?"

John met him the rest of the way. "Something like that." He wrapped his arms around Rodney. "I'm trying to say I love you here."

"Yeah," Rodney breathed the word against his neck. "I figured that out somehow. I love you too, by the way."

"So...are we okay? Because I really need us to be okay right now."

"We're okay." Rodney hugged him to emphasize it.

John hesitated, "What...kind of deal did you make with Linda?"

"Just—not to break her daughter's heart."

John ducked his head, and made a sudden production of reaching out to straighten the bedspread, but there was no mistaking the emotion when he said, "Thanks, Rodney."

"Dad!" This was accompanied by the thump-thump of Carly's Reeboks on the steps, and a moment later, she popped into the room. "There you are. I wanted to ask if it was okay if—" She stopped suddenly, never one to miss tension in the air, and instantly went on the alert. "Is something wrong?"

"Honey, there's something I need—" John looked to Rodney and corrected himself. " _We_ need to tell you."

Carly's face pinched with worry. "Are you breaking up?"

"No!" John rushed to reassure her. "It's nothing like that, nothing about me and Rodney."

Her shoulders dropped with relief. "Well, what then?"

"Carly, there's something I should have told you—"

"Your father was just trying to protect you," Rodney couldn't help interjecting.

"But I lied, and you know what I tell you. That's never okay. Especially about important things. And...I'm just going to say it." He looked her in the eye. "Your mother isn't dead. She left us when you were baby, but she's alive and well. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth sooner."

Carly looked decidedly underwhelmed. "That's the big news?"

John frowned. "That's not enough?"

"Dad," she said in a tone of _do I have to explain everything to you_. "I've known how to google since I was five, and you would never tell me anything, so I did my own research. I figured 'dead' was just a nice way of saying 'deadbeat'."

He stared at her incredulously. "And you never mentioned this?"

She shrugged. "I thought it would just make you feel bad. If I'd known you were having a heart attack about it, I would have told you a long time ago."

"A long time—" John was beginning to sound exasperated. "How long have you known?"

Carly looked up at the ceiling, as if trying to recall. "Um, since I was—seven, maybe?"

"God," John muttered.

Rodney was sure it was not the most appropriate reaction, but he couldn't help being a _little_ proud of her precocious problem-solving skills.

"So, is that it?" she asked.

John shook his head. "There is one more thing. Your mother, she's—back. In town. And if you want to meet her, we can make that happen. If you want to get to know her—"

"I like having two dads," Carly interrupted and moved closer to Rodney, as if to demonstrate where her loyalties lay.

Rodney put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey. Not going anywhere."

"The three of us will still be a family, no matter you decide." John directed a meaningful look at Rodney, as if to say, _I hope you're listening, because I'm talking to you too._

Carly fiddled with the hem of her shirt. "I don't think— I don't want to meet her. Not right now. Maybe when I'm older." Her expression turned anxious. "Is that bad?"

"No!" John and Rodney both said at the same time, and John assured her, "It's fine, honey. Whatever you want is fine, and you can change your mind at any time."

She thought that over. "Okay." Then she gave her father and Rodney a long, appraising look and came out with, "Are you going to get married? I mean, I know it's not legal and all yet, but people can't stay stupid forever." She hesitated. "Well, probably not."

John scowled at Rodney, not entirely jokingly. "I'm going to have to start calling her McKay Junior."

Rodney crossed his arms over his chest. "If she has a healthy skepticism about most people's intelligence, I say good for her."

John looked back to Carly, "Honey, Rodney and I haven't really talked about—"

"Okay, okay," she broke in. "You don't have to get all awkward and stuff. I'm not trying to rush you. I just wanted to say, count me out as flower girl, 'cause that's just lame anyway and I'm way too old for it. But I would like to do a reading, a poem or whatever. You guys get to choose, but I get to pick my dress. Deal?"

"Huh," Rodney said. "Cadman had the same condition."

John frowned at Rodney, who shrugged.

"Also," Carly continued, "and this is really important. If you get the impulse to write your own vows, please just...don't. 'Cause you're going to start talking about how you're the wind beneath each other's wings and stuff, and that's just embarrassing for everyone."

"Um," John looked like he couldn't quite keep up with her, "okay?"

"Good," Carly said with a satisfied nod. "I'm glad we got that settled."

"Is that all?" John asked, amused.

She shook her head. "Can I go to Jimmy Newly's birthday party next Saturday?"

"Will Jimmy's parents be there?" John asked.

"Jimmy Newly!" Rodney couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Carly ducked her head sheepishly. "I know, but…Tanya Miller heard from Cody Dean that Jimmy Newly likes me and…his floppy hair is _kind of_ cute."

John sent her off with conditional permission pending a call to the Newlys and Rodney with the heartfelt plea that she not waste too much time on a boy who couldn't grasp even the most basic principles of covalent bonds.

That left them alone together, with the m-word still ringing in the air, and John said after a very long and awkward silence, "The thing is. I would like to, but the last time I was married it sucked, and I never want things to suck between us."

Rodney nodded. "Understandable, although having met your ex-wife, I can say without being the least bit immodest that you would have a lot more to work with this time around."

John broke into a grin. "Your modesty _is_ one of the things I most love about you." He pulled Rodney into his arms.

"If we decide we want to," Rodney peppered little kisses to John's neck, "you know we can always go to Canada. I should get something for those outrageous taxes I pay."

John huffed a laugh against the side of his face. "Don't ever change, Rodney. I mean that." He fell quiet and then, "I think it's just—a matter of when."

"Yeah." Rodney knew he must be smiling like an utter dork, but he just couldn't care. "I think so, too."

"Just promise me one thing."

"What?"

There was a glint in John's eye. "We at least _tell_ Carly that we're writing our own vows."

"You are the butter on my bread," Rodney declared passionately. "The swizzle stick that stirs my cocktail."

"The hydrogen fuel of love that lights my life."

Rodney grinned. "You know, this marriage thing could be fun."

 

_#101: Happily ever after is one of those deceptive phrases. It's not like you see it and automatically think, "Right, right, that means we'll have fights over who took out the trash the last time, and a night when our kid spikes a fever and scares us both senseless, and we'll never agree on a single movie, ever, in our entire lives." Happily ever after exists, make no mistake. You just have to remember this: It may be the way the story ends, but it's really only the beginning._


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